


Demons

by sherlockedwriter



Series: Sherlock Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockedwriter/pseuds/sherlockedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has demons in his head.<br/>Sometimes they come out to play, with horrific results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

Inside John was a monster.

The monster was one of grief, consuming him and filling his every pore. 

Sometimes, it would escape, taking the form of Sherlock. Now, Sherlock was never one for idle chatter, preferring to save his breath for important moments, but this Sherlock would talk to John like doing so would save his life. 

The first time Sherlock appeared, John leapt out of his seat and ran to hug the other man. That didn't end well. Sherlock disappeared, leaving no remainder other than a cup of spilt tea and a confused John. 

The second time, John restrained himself, just enough to make sure Sherlock would stay. They talked, mainly about the weather, until the early hours of the morning. Sherlock wouldn't go near the topic of his death. That night, John had gone to bed with a sad smile on his face and no recollection whatsoever of what they had talked about, only knowing that Sherlock had been there. 

The next few times were more or less the same. John never really left the apartment, aside from those dreaded Thursdays at his psychiatrist's office. Occasionally he would sit in a different place, perhaps at the kitchen table or on the couch. But it was sitting in his armchair that drew Sherlock out. 

He would just be sitting there, thinking and rethinking, when a figure would move out of the corner of his eye and the next thing he knew he would be talking to him. To Sherlock. About Molly, about Lestrade, about Mycroft, about anything, really, just to pass the time together.  
Strange things, hallucinations. 

The last time, he drew out his gun to shoot it, wanting rid of it. But when he pulled the trigger, he didn't see the hallucination disappear, or blood, or anything of the sort. He saw darkness and death.

Monsters underneath beds aren't the killing kind. 

The ones in heads are.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, not so happy with this one. I was listening to Demons my Imagine Dragons, so that's where the idea comes from.


End file.
